


The Cemetery

by laudanum_cafe



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Cemetery, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 14:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7466202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laudanum_cafe/pseuds/laudanum_cafe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My friend Joe thinks hanging out in a cemetery a horrible place to go and unwind. He's always asking why don't I just go waste away the day at a Starbucks like a normal person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cemetery

I've always found something darkly romantic and confusingly intriguing about cemeteries. It's a strange concept that throughout acres of uncultivated land people bury the stilled corpses of their loved ones in hollow wooden boxes beneath six feet of consecrated ground. It is a tradition that makes no pronounced sense yet continues to this day. I have visited a good number of cemeteries...some dating as far back as the establishment of this country to those only a century old. Which, as we all know, a century is barely a blink in time in this day and age. 

I can't help but wonder, with the limited land space available in these times, what happens to the dead when the available land runs out? Do the long forgotten remains of ancestors that no one has visited in ages get removed? Are there cemetery renovations? Is it treated like a house flip for the afterlife?

I'm sure I could easily do a simple internet search if I was actually really interested in knowing the truth but I'm okay. I'm strangely comforted by these useless wonderings as I sit in a grassy patch under a tree next to Mr. and Mrs. Hemlock’s headstones. I don't know the Hemlocks or any of their possibly surviving relatives. I just happen to like this particular spot in this cemetery. 

I like to come here on most days and evenings and allow my heart to calm and settle my always overactive mind. It's funny...my friend Joe thinks hanging out in a cemetery a horrible place to go and unwind. He's always asking why don't I just go waste away the day at a Starbucks like a normal person. I never try and explain my reasons and instead I just smile, grab my bag that always houses my 3 journals, a sketchbook, pens and pencils, and a novel or two as I laugh and exit our apartment. To anyone else I would look like the average artsy college student packed up and headed to class. Nope. Not me. I'm off to spend the majority of my free time with the dusted remains of the dead.

And look...it's not like I have some dumb cliché or stereotypical Gothic fixation with cemeteries. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against goth kids or the interests of their subculture. For me it's simple. I can go there and spend hours never having to utter a single word to another single person and it's perfectly acceptable. 

Ok, I understand that the patrons of the local coffee house are not using the establishment as a place to pick up hot single emo twinks. It's just...look, I don't like social interaction on even the smallest level. For example, even the most minimal of forced pleasantries that are required to be exchanged with that beautiful fresh faced barista is just TOO MUCH for me. This whole “grade iced vanilla latte for (fill-in-your-name here)” is just too personal. Fresh-faced-barista now knows your name and has brazenly announced it to the entirety of the population of Hipster Coffeehouse #5. And no, I am NOT as narcissistic as to assume that when my name gets called some magical “all eyes on me” moment occurs. I would just prefer to not have my given name announced to a room full of strangers just so I can get a fucking cup of coffee (I prefer a simple large black coffee without any of the pretentious accoutrements, thank you very much). This whole coffeehouse ritual reminds me of the ridiculous formality of a southern belle’s coming out ball or the stuffy traditions of guests of high rank being announced to the room as the arrive to their Victorian gala. 

Alright, maybe I'm reading way too into these things but hey, that's how my mind works. For every thought or experience there has to be a subsequent analysis until my asshole brain is so full of buzzing and I feel an anxiety attack coming on.

But here in the cemetery there are no triggers. It's just quiet solitude. 

It's pretty much a given that when you see a person sitting beside a grave that you don't try and speak to them. Common sense dictates that they are there to reflect and honor the cherished memory of a loved one. So yeah, no one looks at me strangely or asks my name or comes within my personal space of 50 feet in diameter. It's simply assumed I'm here to visit mom or dad or the grandparents or maybe even a lost lover. People who visit cemeteries follow a very non invasive code of conduct and that's perfect for me.

Which brings me to this anomaly of a human being.

For the past month I've started noticing another “regular” in this cemetery. Maybe he's been coming around more than that but I've never noticed. What caught my attention was that he would wander amongst the plots and was quite obviously not visiting anyone in particular. 

Given my own reasons and circumstances for being here you would think I'd be sympathetic and non judgemental...but dude. This kid was straight up shifty and weird. He kept to himself, though...but after a while I'd feel that tickle on the back of my neck that says I'm being watched and when I'd look up he's staring straight at me (or at least gazing intently in my very direction).

He always kept a good many yards between my spot and where ever he was visiting...until this one day…

I arrived at my usual time and went up the path to my usual patch of grass next to the Hemlocks. But who would you guess was there? None other than that weird kid himself. From my way up the path he had his back turned to me and was standing right in front of the Hemlocks headstone holding the largest bouquet of flowers. For the couple of minutes it took for me to get to my spot I watched as he stood completely still, head bowed down, arms slack with this ridiculous floral arrangement dangling from his hand. I walked up behind him and softly cleared my throat to get his attention.

Nothing.

Not even a flicker of movement.

So I stepped to his side and bent slightly so I could see his face. His eyes were wide and unblinking behind his thick black frames and he was just eerily still. He had soft tufts of sandy blond hair peeking out from under a black knit cat and his frame was soft though his stance rigid. Dude, this kid was so deep in thought it appeared he had completely mentally checked out. I just looked at him like this for a few moments and said “Hey”...

I could tell my voice registered. His gaze softened slightly and he blinked a few times. Very slowly he lifted his head up and while still staring straight at the grave he spoke:

“The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself.”

He turned his head and looked me in the eye.

“In your face I have found a baby universe.”

He reached down and took my hand.

“I watched as a new world was born amongst the dust of those who once lived.”

We stood like that for what seemed to me to be an eternity. I had no idea how to process this and I was mentally freaking out. Then he smiled, let go of my hand, placed the flowers on the grave and started to walk away. I was frozen to the spot, mind still reeling, until finally I woke up and called after him.

“Hey!”

He stopped, turned to face me and said:

“I'll never forget you...until the day I die.”


End file.
